Deciding, Denying, and Drinking
by iepidemic
Summary: You never thought Jeff had a problem... until now, when it all goes wrong.
1. Chapter 1

Deciding, Denying, and Drinking (Part 1)

_Another more serious fanfic. I know it sounds odd, but they're fun to write. Let's see where this leads, shall we?_

It was another typical night at your apartment complex. You sat down, silently watching another rerun of House with Jeff, who was drinking vodka right out of the bottle. He gets up and stumbles over to the kitchen counter. As he slams the container down, you notice that it's actually… empty. The entire 40 ounces.

"Jeff," you breathe in disbelief. "Jeff, how full was that when you got it?" He chuckles stupidly and stares past you with glazed eyes. "I bought that bitch today!" He laughs again. "It's not a fucking competition," you snarl. "Whoa-ho-ho," Jeff exclaims, throwing his hands up. "Bitch alert. Chill."

Tears fill your eyes at this pathetic sight. "You need to go to bed, or lie down." You grab his shoulder and put your arm around his waist for support. "C'mon, I'm fine," he slurs. You know better than to respond, it would just result in arguing.

"Let go of me…" Jeff is pulling away from you with surprising force. However, you keep a firm grip. "Stop! I'm fine! Let… me… go!" He manages one final shove, causing you to tumble backwards and into the corner of the door.

"This is what fucking happens." Jeff makes no effort to help you up. Your shaking hand rubs the back of your head, and blood comes off on your fingertips. Your chest heaves up and down while tears fall freely from your face. "I'm gonna do whatthefuck I want, fuckin' bitch," Jeff growls.

You guys had gotten in physical fights before, but this felt different somehow. You were forced to listen to Jeff's drunken rant. "You always try to fuckin' change me. And you know what? I don't have to deal with this bullshit any longer! I can get with whoever I want, 'cuz girls love me! Guys fucking love me too, and that's alright dude. I—" You stick out your foot and swiftly kick his feet out from under him.

"Ow! The fuck?" Jeff yelled, mimicking your head rubbing motion. "Listen asshole. I'm not going to clean up your path of destruction, so try to get yourself together or sleep this the fuck off." Jeff got a white-knuckled grip on the table and stood up, leaning all his weight on the wall.

You muster up the strength you have left to face him. "Jeffery," your voice quivers. "I'm begging you, please." He just looked god-awful, and you absolutely despised seeing him this bad. His hair was up in every direction, his skin was clammy and not it's usual tan complexion. All of a sudden, his body began to shake uncontrollably.

You take hold of him, a sinking feeling gathering in the pit of your stomach as he continues to twitch. "Baby, talk to me. Say something, anything!" But you have no such luck, he's unresponsive. He then drops hard to the floor and convulses violently; a scream escapes your lips as you dial 911.

It's just like you went over with Maddox on what to say when you're in an emergency situation and need help. But you can't remember your address or how to even form words when asked. "496 Samantha Way, apartment 316," you stutter finally. "The ambulance is on its way," the woman on the line drones.

You throw down your cell and hold Jeff tight, not caring that you were kneeling in his vomit. You didn't want to think that that argument could be the last thing you ever did with him. "Don't leave me," you sob. "God, please…

…don't die."


	2. Chapter 2

Deciding, Denying, and Drinking (Part 2)

_Here it is, the next chapter in this unusually serious fic. _

The approaching sound of the siren brought you out of your teary fog. You didn't want to admit how much it scared you. The whole idea of doctors, medics, and surgery was terrifying. Ever since you were little, being in that environment sent you into panic attacks, and sometimes still did. But you said that you'd be strong for Jeff.

"Paramedics, open up!" Someone calls from the hallway, pounding on the door. You quickly undo the lock and people flood in. Guys in blue suits surround Jeff, yelling at each other their orders.

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump. "Sorry ma'am; what is your relationship to this man?" You attempt to regain what little composure you held. "He's my boyfriend."

"Uh-huh, and what happened here tonight?" he went on, scribbling on his notepad. "We were having an argument, a-and he's been, um… drinking a lot. He just… he just fell to the ground and started seizing or something."

The event immediately plays over and over in your mind. You felt helpless, couldn't do anything. "Miss? Miss?" The paramedic's apathetic tone pierced your thoughts. "I said, are you riding with us?" You nod. "Of course." Jeff is being rushed out on a stretcher and in restraints because he was still moving.

"Wait!" you blurt out to no one in particular. "Is he going to be okay?" You're met with grim faces. "He needs to get to an emergency room, now."

The ride there was loud, filled with the rapid beeping from the heart monitor, Jeff's groans of pain, and panicky, new EMT's. Yet your world was silent; you could only hear your own guilt-ridden thoughts.

"You should have noticed how much he was drinking."

"Why didn't you do something?"

"You just watched your boyfriend practically kill himself."

"This is all your fault."

"Caucasian male, 37, heavily intoxicated, seizing, and 103 fever," someone shouts as they lower the stretcher out and onto a gurney. You manage to leave Jeff a peck on his forehead before he gets whisked away. It takes all of your willpower to not break down right there in the parking lot, but you trudge into the overly-sterile waiting room and sit on a chair in the far corner with your head down in your hands.

"Hey," a voice coos in the next seat. Through bleary eyes you make out Chip's outline. "I got your text, what happened? Are you alright?" You choke on your words as sobs take over. His comforting arm drapes over your shoulders and pulls you in close. You cry as quietly as you can into the crook of his neck.

"He started seizing," you whisper. A doctor solemnly walks over and interrupts the conversation. "He has alcohol poisoning, and his toxic screening showed an overdose combination of Xanax, Asprin, and Wellbutrin." Tears well up again, but something catches your attention. "Wellbutrin? Isn't that medication for depression?" The white coat man nods, and confusion sets.

You were never on depression treatment… but Jeff is? Why didn't he tell you? _And what else is he hiding?_ Chip takes a deep breath and looks back at the doctor. "So uh… what happens now?" The man sighs and runs a hand through his thinning gray hair. "Mr. Davis hasn't regained consciousness yet." He turns to you. "You said you're the same blood type as him, correct?" A lump forms in your throat and your hands shake, though Chip is holding them lovingly.

"Yes," you reply meekly. "Well, because of the toxicity that his little cocktail had, part of his liver has been compromised. He'll need a small part of yours right away."

_Oh fuck._


	3. Chapter 3

Deciding, Denying, and Drinking (Part 3)

_A piece of my liver? No, no fucking way are these strangers hacking into my body._

You shot up from your seat and ran out the near door into the parking garage. Catching sight of a trash can, you stick your head inside to vomit what little you'd eaten today. That all too familiar feeling creeps in as you struggle to catch your breath.

"You're alright, I promise. Just sit down," Chip murmurs. He sits next to you, leaning against the wall. When Jeff wasn't there or you guys were fighting, he was always by your side like an older brother. Chip gently used his hand to bring your face up. "You're strong. You can do this, I know it." After gathering your thoughts and courage, you made a decision.

"For Jeff," you whimpered. Chip smiled proudly and led you back inside. However after that, most everything was a blur. You signed papers, got changed into that stupid gown, and was instantly prepped for surgery. You do remember having to be sedated early because you were still panicking. You hear the surgeon explaining something complicated sounding before surrendering to the anesthesia.

Your eyes flutter open, but the blinding fluorescent lights quickly force them shut. The faint bustling of the hospital filled your ears, and you tense. You manage to get a look around the room; the first person you see is Chip, doing something or another on his iPhone, but he notices your glance. "Hey," he whispered with a small grin. "You have good timing; Jeff woke up about an hour ago. He fell back asleep now… but I'm glad you're here."

"Didn't think I would make it?" you joke as you sit up. "Yes, I thought it was all over for you," Chip retorts sarcastically. Jeff was in the bed next to yours, in some morphine-induced nap. Chip tosses a pillow off his chair and it hits him. "Get up, your girlfriend's awake." You smiled at the way they treated each other, it always seemed to cheer you up somehow. "I'm gonna go," Chip says. "But call me if you need anything." He kisses you on the cheek and pats Jeff's foot on the way out.

You hobble over to his bed and sit beside him. "Hello," he croaks groggily. "Fancy meeting you here." You place a small peck on his lips, and your fingers toy with his hair. "What am I going to do with you?" Jeff shrugs. "Love me?" You smirk but then sigh. "What happened? What are you doing to yourself?" His eyes narrow and he looks defensive. His pride and ego was the number one priority… like always.

"What do you mean, what am I doing to myself? I'm doing whatever I want. I'm living my life, and you can't tell me how." He could get so argumentative, and you hated that. Talking about why he's here with you in the first place was obviously out of the question now. "I'm not," you insist. "Just… what are you hiding from me?"

Jeff looked distraught and conflicted; as if he really did want to tell you but couldn't bring himself to do it. He finally opened his mouth to speak. "I'm just going to go to bed. I don't know if you know this, but I nearly died and stuff." _He cannot be serious. Just like every addict, he's avoiding the subject._ "Jeff, there's a problem! You have a problem, and you won't even fucking talk to me about it?" You were able to keep your tone steady, though inside you were boiling over with rage and disappointment.

His voice dropped to a growl. "I do not have a fucking problem." However the cold sweat layered over his skin said otherwise. "You're already going through withdrawal! And it's been 2 goddamn days!" You got up and walked toward the door and tried not to double over in pain due to the fact that you probably just ripped out some stitches. "I'm done Jeff. I love you so much… but not like this. I'm sorry, I need time to think."

You didn't give him the chance to respond because you were scared of what he was going to say. Without any idea where you were going or how far you'd get, you left him and didn't look back at the shell of the man that you once fell in love with.


	4. Chapter 4

Deciding, Denying, and Drinking (Part 4)

After spending a rather sleepless night in a room down the hall separate from Jeff's, you still had no idea what you were going to do about this situation. It was obvious that he had a problem; however it was also obvious that he was never going to change. The solution that you feared was relentlessly buzzing in the back of your mind and no matter how hard you thought, you couldn't come up with a standing opposition.

_ Break up with him. _Leave the man who you thought you had fallen in love with, and he you? Despite the problems that you guys seemed to have, your relationship was a good one, filled with laughter and small romantic gestures to prove that maybe chivalry isn't dead. A petite nurse snuck into the room. "The doctor's discharging you now that you've stayed overnight for observation," she mumbled before exiting just as fast and as quietly that she had entered. Glad to hear you were finally free, you slipped on the old clothes that you wore in and walked to the lobby. You didn't want to spend any more time in the hospital, but you needed to find out if Jeff was leaving as well.

"Hi, is Jeffery Davis in room 218 being discharged?" you asked another nurse at the computer. She tapped away with unbelievable speed at the worn out keyboard and looked back up at you as if you should have already known the answer. "His doctor has cleared him to leave," she crowed. "But has he left yet—you know, never mind." You ambled down the pristine white hallway until you reached a door that had the number 218 over the top.

"Jeff?" Your call reverberates around the empty space you're standing in. What little he brought with him was gone, and everything was organized once more except for a folded up piece of paper lying on the bed. You sit down on the still warm mattress and open the handwritten note.

**Don't worry about me, because I know you, and I know that you will. I can assure you I am perfectly fine or at least will be. Of all the fucked up shit that I've done, this definitely is one of the worst. For some strange reason you stuck by me through everything, and we both know that there's been some crazy shit. Odd as it may sound, I'm not just a narcissistic asshole and I want to prove it to you because even if my fans don't see that there's more to me than that, you deserve to. I don't know when I'll see or talk to you again, but I love you. Whether you like it or not.**

**Signed,**

**Jeffery B. Davis**

You smile through your tears but can't shake the concern this caused. Was this a good thing or a bad thing? Why wouldn't he say anything before he left? A low rumbling voice got your attention. "Ah, you must be the cute, skinny blonde he was talking about. Jonah Harding, how do you do?" The man stuck out his hand and it takes a moment to realize that he was talking to you. "Oh, um, I'm okay thank you." Jonah moved past you and into the drawer of the bedside table. "I actually just came to get this," he explained, holding up the golden ring that you had gotten Jeff for your anniversary. "He had to take it off for the MRI and forgot it until just now," he explained.

"Mr. Harding, do you know where Jeff is?" you snap rudely. He looks a little taken aback. "Uh, I think he's already downstairs about to—" He doesn't even finish his sentence and you are bounding through the maze of a building you were in, trying to find any stairwell to get down to ground level. Then like a godsend you find it and run down the steps 3 at a time. Him being over 6 feet made it somewhat easier to pick him out in a crowd, but of course now that you wanted to find him he was nowhere in sight. Just as you were about to turn back, you see none other than your boyfriend trudging through the lounge along with two more people that you didn't recognize.

He spots you, and his facial expression is a mixture of elation and shame, which confuses you. However, you ignore it and jog over, literally pushing the strangers away and wrapping your arms around his torso. Jeff's secure embrace covers you like a blanket, and every emotion coming together at this moment created a long lost, shared euphoria, different from anything else. His rough hands are all but that as he cups them over your tear-glossed face. "I know that this is weird and you don't know what's happening, but you need to trust me," he whispers to you.

A million responses ran through your brain, but it was damn near impossible for you to say one. "Y-you don't have to go babe. I don't want you to leave me." One of the women standing with Jeff that you shoved aside piped up. "Actually, he does have to go. Come on Mr. Davis." He shot you a helpless glance and began to drag his feet out toward the exit.

You're dumbfounded by his submissive attitude as well as enraged. "Where the hell are you going then?" you shout right before he would leave your life for god knows how long. Jeff Davis stopped and turned 180 degrees to face a woman who would follow him to the ends of the earth.

"I'm going to rehab."


End file.
